Until All is Right
by Carry.the.Banner
Summary: The peace has been shaken throughout the boroughs of the city. Innocent newsies have been attacked by their old allies from Queens over a misunderstanding between leaders. Trust continues to be broken and suspicion is on the rise, creating barriers between even the oldest of friends. Can the courage of an unlikely hero smooth things over before warfare ensues between them all?


The streets were dark and damp. Every streetlamp had blown out in the violent storm that had passed. No one had bothered to relight them at this time of night. Especially when another storm was threatening its arrival any minute now.

The city was more desolate than usual on this night. Few souls were out braving the wind that still whipped a cold shock around the tall buildings. Most were out clearing the debris left from the first storm, but there was one who walked alone with his head down, wearing a black cowboy hat to shield his face.

Jack Kelly tightened his hat string under his chin as much as he could and picked up his pace. As he made his way past Tibby's, fat raindrops began to fall on his bare hands. The second storm was traveling faster than he had anticipated. He was already late because he waited for the first one to pass before he left the lodge, so he couldn't waste any more time seeking shelter now. He took in a deep breath of heavy damp air. The cold pierced his lungs, but he still began to run.

The rain hit Jack's face like bullets as he ran. The wind blew so hard he could swear the buildings were teetering on the brink of collapsing. In the distance he saw the faint flickering of candles in the building of what looked like a butcher shop, each of a different size. He was almost there.

As he approached the building, he could see a face peering out at him. Before he could slow down, the door was opened and he ran in. He was never so happy to feel the warmth of the indoors.

"Bout time, Cowboy," said Boots as he took Jack's jacket and hung it on the coat rack.

"They start already?" Jack asked. He looked eagerly at the door at the end of the hallway.

"Yep, they couldn't wait any more than an hour. Once West got here from the Bronx Spot said it was time to get goin."

"Shit," Jack said, taking his hat off and shaking the water onto the floor. "Alright, I'm headin down."

Jack put his hat back around his neck and let it fall on his back. Boots gave him a nod and returned to his perch at the front door. Jack ran his fingers through his hair and made his way to the cellar door.

As he creaked down the wooden stairs, he could hear the other newsie leaders talking below.

"But he's got a lot'a guys backing him up."

"Only if he gets the support from the boys in Sheepshead, but last I talked to 'em they said they was with us."

"Not if- hang on. Dat who I think it is?"

Jack immediately recognized the voice of the Brooklyn leader: confident and cocky. Jack smirked as he entered the candle-lit room.

"Yeah it's me," he said as he approached the old wooden table that sat in the center of the room. He went around and spit-shook with each of the other leaders. When he approached Spot however, he could tell he wasn't pleased with his tardiness.

"Funny, we schedule the meeting in your own borough an the only one who ain't on time is you," said Patch from Staten Island.

"Storm kept everyone up, I had to wait until they all fell asleep at the lodge before I left."

"Any other time that excuse would fly Cowboy, but you know how important this is. Boots was here before all'a us, you should'a been too." Spot said. Jack was about to offer an explanation, but could tell by Spot's voice that he wasn't kidding this time. And he was right.

Jack took his seat in the empty chair by the back wall without another word. Trip, the Midtown leader, handed Jack a glass of warm scotch that West had stolen for their last meeting. Jack swallowed some down. He cringed from the burn but let it settle in his stomach and warm his chilled, waterlogged body.

"Who wants ta fill in our late guest?" Spot asked. He looked at the Bronx leader and gave him a quick nod. "West, go ahead."

West took a sip of his scotch and sat back in his chair.

"Alright, so listen up," he began. "It's been three weeks since the initial argument between Bullet's Queens newsies and Patch's boys over in Staten Island. It was first just ova sellin spots but as we all know, it escalated from there." Jack nodded

"Yeah, the whole thing about Bullet's boys gettin beat up ova in Brooklyn three days later," Jack said. West nodded.

"Bullet thought the two incidents were connected and that wes all was teamin up on him and his boys-"

"But it wasn't even my boys that jumped tha Queens newsies," Spot said, banging his fist on the table. "It ended up just bein a bar fight, but Bullet won't believe it."

"Bullet was never the one turn away from an opportunity to start a fight," Jack said.

"Exactly," West continued. "Now since then, he's initiated three attacks wit his boys on newsies from Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Bronx."

"Make that four," Jack said. "This morning two of my boys, Itey and Pie Eater, got jumped on the way to get their papes yesterday. Right as they crossed tha alleyway behind tha nun's cart in the morning."

The other leaders perked up and leaned forward.

"What happened? What condition they in?" Spot asked.

"They gonna be alright. But Pie Eater's got a good shiner goin on though and Itey's got a bum ankle," Jack replied. "They didn't get a good look at who it was that jumped them but they says it was five guys wit black cloths tied around their faces that came to a point below their chins."

"Sounds like Bullet," Patch said, shaking his head. "This is unbelievable."

"We've tried to talk wit him but no one's lettin us get in contact wit him," West said. "I just sent four of my boys out to their lodge three days ago but before they could even reach the building they were intercepted by a few'a his newsies and turned away."

"Coward," Spot said as he leaned back in his seat. He downed the rest of his scotch.

"What else are we gonna do?" Jack asked.

"Maybe this will all just fizzle out?" Patch suggested. "I mean, maybe he'll feel like he's gotten his point across and forget about it?" Spot let out a cynical laugh.

"Yeah, and let him keep hurtin our guys who ain't done nothin but minded their own business? Great plan," he said. "No. What we need to do is ambush 'im. Catch him by surprise with our strongest newsies and give him a lesson. Bullet can't fight any of his own battles. He'll be done for before we even break down his door."

"You kiddin me?" Trip jumped in. "Start a war? There is no way I'm letting my boys get involved like that. That would solve absolutely nothing and only make everything worse."

"Well then I'd like you to come up with something better then," Spot said, crossing his arms, letting a hint of anger creep into his voice. He was displeased with being disagreed with but held back as much as he could from starting an argument and just poured himself more to drink.

"I don't know," Trip said. For weeks Trip had been thinking about how to tackle this situation but nothing he tried worked. The whole situation was ridiculous from the start, just a matter of pride and respect that had gone too far.

There was a moment of silence as each of the leaders did their best to think of a plan worth following through with. They had found themselves up against one another in the past, but this incident against Bullet was different. This was the first one where the safety of the newsies was in danger.

After a few minutes of pondering and refills on what was left of the scotch, Jack spoke up.

"What if wes sent in a spy?" he suggested. The others surveyed him with curiosity. It sounded like Jack might be onto something, but they needed to flesh out any plan before carrying it out.

"Might work, but who would we send?" Trip asked. "Bullet and his boys would probably recognize all'a our guys. It would be too obvious."

"You got a point," Jack said. He slumped back in his chair, trying to find a way to make it work.

"What if we stage it?" West chimed in.

"Stage it?" Patch asked.

"Yeah, like make it look like one'a our boys wanted to join sides with Bullet. Have him say he wasn't happy under his leader and wanted someone who meant business. Someone who chose to fight his battles ratha than sweep 'em under tha rug."

"We don't sweep nothin under tha rug!" Spot said, feeling insulted by the claim.

"I know that, but Bullet don't. We'd just have one'a our boys play on Bullet's pride and strengths. Make him feel he could trust our boy by feeling that he really respected him and the way he watched over his borough. Then we could meet up with our spy secretly and see if he learned anything about what he's planning on next."

"Bullet might not buy it," Trip said.

"Please," West said, "Bullet lives for getting his ego stroked. We gotta play off his weaknesses. Wes known him long enough to know what makes 'im tick."

West was right. Some believed Spot to be the most pride-filled newsie, but compared to Bullet, he was a modest saint.

"This just might work," Spot said, running his finger around the rim of his cloudy glass. "But who would we send?"

"I say we draw for it," Patch suggested. "Let's all write tha name of one'a our boys on a piece of paper, put 'em in a bucket, and draw at random."

"Sounds fair enough," Jack said.

"But what if wes all don't agree on the choice?" Spot asked.

"Well then we could redraw and see who comes up next and decide from there," Patch said. Spot shrugged and nodded in approval. He was just ready to get a plan moving.

Trip got up and called upstairs to Boots. A few moments later, Boots came downstairs with a piece of crumpled paper and two pencils. He ripped the paper into four pieces and handed them to each of the leaders. Pencils were passed around until everyone had written down the name of one of their boys that they felt was best for the job. It took a few moments for them to write as each took the time to sound out the spelling, but one by one they dropped their nominations into Spot's now empty glass.

"Alright," said Jack. "Since we all leaders, I say it would only be fair if Boots here chose the name as an uninvolved party."

The others nodded in agreement and the glass was passed to Boots. He did not know what he was drawing for, but he asked no questions and took the glass in his left hand. With his right, he mixed up the papers and chose one at random. He unfolded it and sounded out the name that was written on it.

"Cr… Crunch… Crutchy. Crutchy?" He said, looking confused at the other newsies around the table.

"Crutchy?" Trip said more to himself than anyone else. "Crutchy."

"Ya know, that just might work," Patch said. "No one would expect this from a gimp."

"Ise was thinkin we could play on his bum leg. Have 'im say something like he wants a leader who he knows can provide him the protection and security that 'e needs since he can't walk so good. He needs someone to take care'a him," Jack suggested.

Boots looked on confused but tried to piece the information together to understand what they were talking about.

"But is 'e strong enough to take this on?" Spot asked, raising his eyebrow.

"One thing that no one knows about 'im is that he possesses courage more than any one'a us. He might be a gimp, but he's a trustworthy and smart gimp," Jack said. "Just ask Boots here."

Boots nodded in agreement.

"Alright," Spot said. "But do ya think he'd agree to it?"

"Yes," Jack said. "He'd 'a volunteered himself if he was here."

"Alright," Spot said. "Let him know of the plan in the morning, but only him. Don't tell the others until you get the ok from him, and even after don't let out too much information on the plan."

"You got it, Spot," Jack said. "We'll meet back up tomorra night at around midnight and we'll discuss what was the result. If he's in, I'll bring 'im and we can let 'im know what to do." The newsies all spit-shook in agreement.

The meeting was ended and the candles blown out after the papers with the names were burned. They all ascended the stairs. Once they reached the first floor they could hear that the wind had died down. Now it was just raining, but it was manageable to walk home in.

The newsies all grabbed their coats from the rack and bundled up, pulling their hats down low on their faces. One by one, they exited the abandoned building, each traveling in a different direction.

Boots and Jack left last and left together.

"Do you think Crutchy is gonna be ok?" Boots asked Jack. He was still unsure of the actual plan but he pieced enough of the information together to get the gist.

"I can't tell ya for sure, Boots, but I have faith in 'im."

"I hope you're right," Boots said. "I trust you Jack, so I'm behind you on dis one."

"Thanks Boots," Jack said, adding extra confidence to his voice. Truth was, he wasn't entirely sure this plan would work, but it was the only option they could think of. He was more sure of it than not, but there was always a possibility of things falling apart. "Crutchy will be fine."

"Yeah," Boots said. "He'll be fine."


End file.
